


Scourge

by Andimancan



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Just a Mention, Mention of blood, Mention of torture, not a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 05:05:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18308780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andimancan/pseuds/Andimancan
Summary: As Jacal was led through the halls, he felt something- dread, perhaps- threaten to overwhelm him. His heart began to race, his paws tingling with anxiety- or maybe the ropes that bound him were just too tight- but he forced his outward appearance to remain passive and unimpressed. He had been trained to be resistant to most forms of torture, if not all. This Scourge character, whoever he may be, will not get a word from him, he'd rather die than give up his secrets.





	Scourge

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time publishing in years and my first on AO3. Enjoy!

As Jacal was led through the halls, he felt something- dread, perhaps- threaten to overwhelm him. His heart began to race, his paws tingling with anxiety- or maybe the ropes that bound him were just too tight- but he forced his outward appearance to remain passive and unimpressed. He had been trained to be resistant to most forms of torture, if not all. This Scourge character, whoever he may be, will not get a word from him, he'd rather die than give up his secrets. He tried to lash his tail, but winced as he was suddenly reminded of the fact that they had bound that as well. The most he could do was twitch the tip angrily.

The guards in front of him stopped and turned to face him, brandishing their energy spears toward him to prevent escape. He sighed and stopped, waiting for someone to do something. A door faded into existence, the whine of a cloaking device earning barely more than a twitch of one of his ears as the door slid aside to reveal another room. This was much different than his dreary, dark prison cell- complete with dripping water and stereotypical iron bars! It would take days of grooming to get his fur feeling clean and dry again.

This room was brightly light and he squinted to glimpse inside. A small jolt on his back prompted him forward into the room and he was able to get a better look as his eyes adjusted. It was a decently sized room, lined with shiny white tiles from top to bottom, floors and ceiling included. A suspiciously shiny drain was located in the center, reflecting the lights that shone brightly from the corners of the room.

He let out a scoff at the iron chains that hung from the ceiling toward the back of the room. “Yer really goin’ ta try th’ whole torture thin’ ain't ya?” He sneered. “There's nothin’ ya can do ta’ ge’ me ta’ talk.”

The sudden jolt to his side made him yelp and his knees gave out. It was the most energy they had used on him and his vision wavered for a moment or two, long enough that he was in the chains, feet barely brushing the ground as he shook the dizziness from his head. He swung lightly from the movement, but pressed his paw pads against the tile to stop himself.

“Told ya I wouldn’ talk.” He pulled back his lips in a snarl that showed off the sharp teeth that lined his mouth.

“But you will.”

He turned his head to see a man enter the room. The man was tall and broad, muscles rippling under his skin as he crossed his arms.

Jacal swallowed hard, the anxiety returning for a moment before he pushed it aside with another sneer. “An’ I assume you mus’ be Scourge.” He dragged his eyes slowly up and down the other man's body, forcing himself to seem unfazed. “I'm no’ impressed. I've seen baby Gerclins scarier th’n ya.”

The brute narrowed his eyes, arms dropping to his sides to curl into fists. He turned to the guard closest to the door. “Bring the girl,” he ordered.

“Yes, my lordship,” the guard answered, thumping a fist against his chest in what Jacal had come to assume was a salute. He signaled to another guard and they left, returning with a figure that caused the blood in his veins to turn to ice.

It was a human girl, hardly more than ten or eleven cycles old. Her eyes leaked and the mewls from her mouth sounded pleading as she struggled against her captors, switching between crude Basang, the common language shared between galaxies, and what might have been Human. Admittedly, he hadn't paid much attention to his lessons as a kit, but he had picked up enough to know she was begging for her life.

The guards threw her into a chair he hadn't noticed before, an old-fashioned wooden one with dark stains that made him feel a little sick. Her paws- hands, according to most humans- were held down and forced into restraints and locked into place, along with her feet. A strap came across her chest, firmly holding her in place.

Her face turned toward him, he could see the fear in her eyes and felt his hearts twist. His kit would've been her age just about now, had she survived. She mewled at him urgently, switching to Basang.

"Please, help!” she begged, still leaking from her eyes. “No hurt! Help! _Please!”_

He turned away. He had a mission, he couldn't jeopardize it or else millions would die. Humans were resilient, he told himself. She would heal from whatever they did to her.  
He was suddenly aware that he was being watched and he forced his face into an unfazed expression. “Is a pathe’ic human ki’ th’ best ya c'n do?” He sneered, his voice steadier than he felt.

“Oh, I haven't even started,” the homicidal tyrant chuckled, showing his own set of teeth in a grin. From his belt he pulled a crude knife, with nasty serrated edges that made him drop his facade for just a moment.

The human girl gasped and her mewls became more desperate, his ears twitching at the intensity of her sobs. Scourge only grinned wider and thumped toward her, her yelping growing higher and higher the more desperate they got.

The brute stepped closer and pressed the knife to her face, forcing her to hold her head at an unnatural angle to avoid being cut. “I know of a few beings would pay a lot of units for a pelt like yours,” he growled. “Why shouldn't I just skin you here and now and let them fight over who gets it?” The human just let out a half strangled squeak, breathing to hard to speak. He pressed the knife harder into her face, just below the eye. A single drop of blood beaded and dripped down her face.

“Wai’!”

The brute pulled back the knife, turning to face Jacal.”Finally ready to spill secrets?” He asked.

Jacal twitched the tip of his tail, ears pressed back in nervousness. “If-If I tell ya wha’ ya wanna know, will ya le’ her return home?” He asked.

“I suppose,” the brute answered. “That seems a fair deal.”

He paused, turning to look at the girl for a long moment, then sighed. “I swear upon the Great Goddess of the Seven Kingdoms, I will allow the girl to return to where she rightfully belongs.”

Jacal twitched his ears at the oath. It was the highest oath one could swear. Breaking a Great Oath was akin to receiving a death curse. Very few actually used it, most afraid of accidentally breaking it and receiving the curse.

“Alrigh’,” he said at last, lowering his head in disappointment at himself for caving. Oh, what would his superiors back at the base think of him now. “Wha’ would ya like ta know?”

“Tell me who is in charge of the Outlook,” the brute demanded.

Jacal hesitated. Oh, Goddess, why that? He sighed and closed his eyes. “A Hothian named Gretor Hallax,” he answered, making sure to pronounce each syllable right despite his accent. “Th’ one ta replace him after his death is a Julcin named Harra Loo. There is no one ta replace her. Their deaths would mean th’ end of th’ Outlook and th’ rebellion.”

He raised his head to glare at the tyrant. “Ya have yer information, now le’ her go back ta Earth,” he demanded.

The brute chuckled. “I only said I would allow her to return to where she rightfully belongs. She does not rightfully belong on Earth.”

He heard rattling of restraints and looked over, eyes widening as the girl rose from the chair to face him. Her eyes were no longer leaking and her face was as cold at the brute's. “My rightful place is right here, leading my empire,” she said in perfect Basang, arms crossed behind her.

“You were tricky, resistant against many of our torture methods,” she continued, pacing the room to stop in front of him, “but I knew there was only a matter of time to find some way to break you. Then one of our informants alerted us that you had lost a child and I knew we could use that to our advantage.” She grinned, eyes glittering with a dagerous light. “And now we have what we need to finally stop heathens like you from destroying what I built.”

"What do you want us to do with the prisoners?” the brute asked.

The girl studied Jacal for a long time, then smiled and turned toward the door. “Kill them all," she ordered. “Bring them each here and save him for last.” She started out of the oom, the guards following. “I have an empire to run and a rebellion to destroy.”

“Yes, Scourge,” the brute said, saluting. It was then that Jacal pieced it all together and his eyes went wide. He cried out, pulling at his restraints, but it was too late. She was already gone.


End file.
